I want to strangle her. “As dead as Jay Gatsby, Gretchen,” I threaten.
“Your attempts to terrorize me are futile because you love me too much. Now, go. Be charming. And snatch him up, because if you don’t, I will. He likes Bon Iver. Also, I think you’re crap.”
And just like that…she hangs up.
Levi comes back into the room to find me staring at my phone, shocked. “Here, have some pie.”
I take the plate from him absently, but his laugh brings me back. “Sorry,” I say. “She drives me crazy, but I love her.”
He nods, as if completely understanding, and then motions toward the back door. We walk, past the patio table and onto the path that curves around the yard, coming to a little double-seated swing, between two looming rose bushes. I sit down, and he joins me, scooping a fork-full of pie into his mouth. “So. Gretchen. How’d you meet her?”
I shrug. “She lived here, for a long time. My parents knew her parents. And then her dad had to move for his business. It wasn’t until then that we realized we couldn’t live without each other. Like soulmates, but…not?”
Levi laughs. “I mean, I only just met her, but I’d say she’s a keeper.”
You’re a keeper. “What about you? Your friends?”
“I have a lot of good friends now, but…” He shrugs. “This might sound stupid, but it’s hard for me to make friends.”
I scrunch my nose up at him. “Lies.”
“I promise it’s not. I’m only just learning how. I didn’t do much friend-making in high school. Everyone around me was a little like my father: insincere, arrogant, self-centered. Maybe it was just the school I was at…I don’t know. But if there’s anyone I don’t want to be, any type of person I don’t want to hang out with, it’s my dad.” Levi studies me from the corner of his eye. “It’s not that he’s a terrible man. He’s not the monster under my bed; I’m not afraid of him. He just…he breaks hearts, you know? He broke my mom’s heart and said nothing, did nothing. He broke my heart and he didn’t even know.”
I breathe out heavily. “Where is he now?”
“Malibu, in a huge mansion, with however many girlfriends he wants. It’s like he turned fifteen and then never aged mentally.”
I fake-gag. “Do you see him often?”
“He comes to TCP events.” Levi sets his empty plate on the ground. “You should know something, Bee.”
I lean forward, hands on my knees, the empty pie plate in my lap. I’m stuffed and comfortable and the air is cool. I don’t want to move ever again.
Levi takes a deep breath in and says, “I didn’t found The Color Project, Bee.”
I turn in surprise. (Although it’s hard to look at him and I want to close my eyes or disappear or make him disappear. His hair is so touchable and his lips are pursed like they want to be kissed and they want to be kissed by me.) “You didn’t?”
“I mean, it’s mine now. But my father started it, years ago, before the divorce. It was under another name, Orville Center for the Needy. He totally sounds like an arrogant jackass, huh?”
I bite back a laugh. “Yeah, he kind of does.”
“When my dad told me about the divorce, he tried to bribe me into ‘being okay’ by offering me anything I wanted. I took my time…. I dunno, maybe I just wanted to mess with him. There wasn’t much I wanted, anyway. Especially not his typical rich divorce bribes—a shiny car, a yacht, a new gaming system. I wanted something that wouldn’t remind me of my dad and his money every time I looked at it. Something I could make my own.”
I stare at him, openly. (I’m too impressed to care.)
“I didn’t have a single idea what I wanted until the week before the divorce. My mom was on her last few days volunteering for the original charity, and I guess…I guess that made us realize we didn’t want him to ruin a good thing with his selfishness and greed. So I asked him for the charity, and he gave it to me. It’s under my mom’s name, but she put me in charge of basically everything. We did everything we could to keep the original sponsors and donators. My dad pays rent every month, but as soon as we’re independent, I’m moving to a bigger facility. Somewhere we can have our fundraisers and our interviews, if possible.”
I’m still gaping. I shut my mouth but continue to stare.
“I hope that doesn’t…I don’t know…make things weird,” he adds.
I laugh outright. “That doesn’t make anything weird. You turned down everything else in the world to run a charity. Do you know how much I respect you for that?” I’m mostly whispering now because I can’t believe I said the words out loud. (Is this that thing they call confidence?)
“You respect me?” He laughs. As if this was funny.
“Duh, of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
“Um, my dad?”
“But we already established that he’s an arrogant jackass. Do I seem like an arrogant jackass to you?”
He chuckles. “No.”
“Then you have no choice but to believe me.”
“Fine.” His expression changes then, but I can’t quite pinpoint it. Then he says, “Can I tell you something?”
I nod.
“I feel like I’ve known you longer than most people in my life.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“It’s kind of weird.”
“And yet,” I say, looking at the stars above us, thankful that Levi is on this spinning planet with me, “it’s not weird at all.”
He sits back, the swing moving with him, and looks up with me. “The stars again.”
“Yeah. They’re always the first thing I think about when I go outside. Even in broad daylight.”
“Same here. After our conversation, I did a little bit of research. That one right there is Orion.” He points, tracing the constellation, and when I scoot in close to him, I can see it.
“Ah! With the line of three stars?”
“Yeah.”
“Any others?” I don’t want to move, with my shoulder pressed up against his chest and my elbow against his thigh and our faces angled just right so that they’re not touching (but they might as well be).
“Don’t remember them.” We laugh, and he drops his arm, and I regret not paying more attention in astronomy last semester. “One day, maybe, I’ll learn them well enough to teach you.”
I nod, not thinking about the stars anymore, and dare enough to lean my shoulder against his. I’ll be here, I think. I close my eyes and try not to dream about stealing kisses in a world made of flowers and stars.
Chapter 19
On Friday morning, eight o’clock sharp, I deliver the vases to Tracy. She’s drinking coffee from a massive mug, a green-and-blue-striped shawl covering her shoulders. She looks up at me, raising her arrangement recipe book in salute. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I say, pushing my glasses up my nose once I set down the box. “Here they are. How long until opening?”